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The delight in Jeremy’s eyes when he spots Jean leaning against his motorcycle outside the therapist’s office as he comes down the stairs is enough to make Jean feel a little too warm in his leather jacket.
Jeremy had walked to his appointment today, insisting that it was a lovely day for a stroll. And it is, admittedly. A bit overcast with fat, fluffy clouds a little on the gray side. It makes Jean think of storms, although he doubts they’re actually due for any.
The furthest Jean’s been out alone on his bike is to the grocery store closest to the apartment. That by itself had felt like wandering into the unknown, but the ride to Jeremy’s therapist is longer than that. Waiting outside the building is much worse than the ride, though. Every sudden sound from the street made him twitch, but he timed it so he’d get here as close to the end of Jeremy’s appointment as he could manage. Ten minutes objectively isn’t that long to sit still alone out in the open of the parking lot, but Jean’s palms are only saved from the crescent marks of his nails by the gloves he’s wearing.
The sky feels wide and open above him, and he clings to the shade of the tree his bike is parked under like it’ll stop it from swallowing him whole.
He worries that Jeremy is going to comment on it: the tense set to his shoulders, the wary eyes darting around him, the fact that he’s here at all. He should know better at this point, probably, because Jeremy just walks over to him and knocks their shoulders together.
“Here for little old me?”
Jean gives him a flat look. “You are nowhere near the shortest Trojan and you are twenty-three. You are neither little nor old.”
Jeremy beams at him. “You mean I’m tall and youthful and beautiful?”
Jean’s frown deepens because if it doesn’t, he may smile. That’s been happening more these days. He hadn’t realized how easy it is to make him smile when there are people around actually trying to do it.
“You are passable in terms of height,” Jean decides, because he can’t acknowledge the beautiful part without lying through his teeth or being too honest.
Jeremy laughs, loud and delighted, and takes the helmet Jean holds out to him. “I’m pretty sure you like how tall I am, actually.”
Jean thinks of the easy way Jeremy will prop his chin on Jean’s shoulder in the kitchen when he cooks. He thinks of the way Jeremy fits so perfectly into his arms when he tucks his head against Jean’s neck as if they’re two pieces of a puzzle.
“Get on the bike,” Jean demands, “before I leave you here.”
The look Jeremy shoots him is knowing, because of course it is. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would,” he insists, even as he climbs back on and shifts so Jeremy can settle behind him. Even as Jeremy wraps his arms around Jean’s waist, fingers stroking over Jean’s stomach through the fabric of his t-shirt; half-teasing, half-soothing.
“So.” Jeremy’s voice is low and warm in Jean’s ear. He fights the urge to shiver. “Home?”
“Park,” Jean says instead. Jeremy hums, pleased, and Jean can’t help thinking of the way Jab gets when he hears the word.
There’s a cool breeze as they ride. Jean would never be foolish enough to take off his helmet, but it’s days like this when he wishes he could feel it in his hair. This isn’t the oppressive heat of summer he’s still getting used to, but something lovely and gentle. Calming. Jeremy’s body pressed against his feels far hotter than the sun above, but Jean has long since given up on pretending he doesn’t like that Jeremy’s a human furnace, even on hot days.
The park isn’t that far away, although that’s much less of an issue now that Jeremy is warming his back. They’d found it during one of their morning runs, a tucked-away little corner of the city that feels like it could almost belong to them in the transitional periods of sunrise and sunset. Jean takes the long way there anyway, if only so he has an excuse to keep Jeremy’s arms wrapped around him longer. By the time they pull into the empty parking lot, the anxious buzz that’s been in Jean’s chest since he set off alone from the Lofts has finally settled into something closer to a cat’s contented purr.
Jeremy hops off first, swinging his helmet off with a flourish that makes Jean huff in exasperated fondness. Jean runs a hand over the curve of his bike affectionately before following Jeremy up the familiar winding path to the bench they’ve claimed as theirs.
It’s a little wooden thing, the white paint peeling and the memorial plaque on the back weathered away until the name is barely legible. Ducks drift lazily out on the little pond it faces, its water flat and turning pinkish-orange under the evening sky. It’s far enough out of the way that they only ever run into a few people in this section of the park, usually dog walkers. It makes Jean a little sad, actually, to see the bench so out of repair. He wonders if maybe they can do something about that, then promptly feels silly for caring so much about something that has nothing to do with him.
Jeremy flops down onto the bench in a leisurely sprawl, legs stretched out. His golden shorts hike dangerously high up his thighs and Jean tries not to look at that too close. He knows he can now, of course, and Jeremy has repeatedly told him so. Still, he doesn’t really think it’s something he should be doing in a public park— no matter how good Jeremy’s thighs may look. Instead, he sits beside him much more deliberately. After a moment of hesitation, Jean leans into his side so their shoulders are pressed together. When he glances over to look at him, Jeremy is smiling broadly back.
It’s only then that Jean really takes the time to look at Jeremy. The wind’s been teasing Jeremy’s hair since he stepped out of his therapist’s, lifting strands to frame his face and almost making him angelic. His hair has gotten longer, long enough that it curls around his ears and falls into his eyes. The evening sun catches the uneven streaks of blonde and rich caramel brown.
Jean tangles his fingers in Jeremy’s hair and gives a soft tug. Jeremy obediently tilts his head so Jean can look at it better.
“Your roots are showing,” Jean observes.
Jeremy says, “Cat and Laila warned me straight up blonde would be harder to keep up with. I just haven’t had the time.”
Jean watches him reach up and run his own fingers through his hair, making it stick up in tufts. Some sections are too long and just flop back down over his eyes. He blows it out of his face.
“Think it looks bad?” he asks, almost idly, but there’s curiosity there, almost like he’s fishing for something.
Jean catches one of the strands between his fingers, studying the abrupt shift from brown to blonde. “No,” he says simply. “It suits you. The contrast.”
Jeremy’s mouth lifts. “Well, I’m glad you think so.”
Jean privately thinks that Jeremy is gorgeous enough that he could probably look good with any hair. Blonde, brown, it doesn’t matter. Jeremy is unfair like that.
“I always thought my hair was boring,” Jeremy admits. “It’s so… brown. Especially with my eyes.”
“I like brown,” Jean says, quieter than he intends. It’s an admission that’s never left his lips so directly to Jeremy. He wonders if Jeremy, like Cat and Laila, assumes Jean’s favorite color is blue like his own because he wears it so often. At least this confession doesn’t directly implicate him the way it feels like it does. It’s one thing to say I like brown and for it to mean I think your brown hair looks nice. It’s another to say I like brown and for it to mean I never had a favorite color until I saw your eyes.
Still, the disarmed look Jeremy gives him with those garden soil eyes feels damning enough that Jean has to fight his instinct to look away.
After a moment, a silly smile with all his teeth spreads across Jeremy’s face. “Really? Because from your reaction to me dyeing it, I always kinda thought you had a thing for blondes.”
Jean immediately releases Jeremy’s hair with a scowl, earning him a little laugh. “You are insufferable.”
“You like insufferable guys,” Jeremy challenges.
Jean opens his mouth. Jean thinks about his track record. Jean closes his mouth.
Jeremy grins like he knows he just won. “See? Case closed.” He leans back again, still absently twisting one of the longer strands of hair between his fingers. “I dunno. I originally wanted frosted tips, but backed out last minute because I thought it might be too weird.”
That his family would think it too weird, Jean fills in sourly.
“I really like my blonde,” Jeremy continues, “but if I want to try something else, I should probably think about it before touching this up.”
Jean tilts his head. “Something else?”
“Yeah, maybe something more… strawberry blonde? Or darker brown. Or— I don’t know, Laila keeps threatening to bleach me silver.” Jeremy grins. “She says I’m going to give her too many gray hairs before we’re thirty and it’s only fair.”
He knows it’s a joke, but Jean has a flickering image of silver fox Jeremy in his head. He quickly shuts that line of thought down, pinching a fold in his jeans to drag himself away from it and stay here, far away from scary thoughts of insanely attractive middle-aged Jeremy.
Carefully, Jean says, “I like your brown. It obviously fits you since it’s your natural hair color. I like your blonde, it is what I’m used to now. I think you look best with your hair blonde but your roots showing.”
Jeremy blinks slowly at him. Then, “Wow. That’s really gay.”
Suddenly incredulous, Jean reels back to glare at him. “It is not!”
“It is. You like me when my hair is dumb,” Jeremy insists.
“It is not dumb,” Jean says.
“Cat and Laila both told me in the past week that my roots are so grown out right now that it looks dumb.”
“Well, I am right and they are wrong,” Jean argues hotly. “It looks nice.”
Jean watches as Jeremy tries his best to flatten his stupid grin back into a thin-lipped straight line, feeling more and more sour at how badly he fails to keep his mouth from wobbling. As if Jean’s the one being funny or ridiculous here.
“I think having such a strong preference for something so specific is kinda inherently gay,” Jeremy manages after a long moment, still attempting to keep the smile off his face as he makes his case.
“I do not wish to talk about your roots anymore,” Jean decides primly, because he knows he’s already on the verge of losing the argument. “Pick another subject to talk about.”
And Jeremy barks out a laugh at that, shooting him a look that Jean can’t meet because of the utter fondness in his eyes.
Instead of picking another topic, Jeremy just reclines even lower in the bench and stretches his legs out. When he knocks his sneaker against Jean’s boot, Jean gives him a tiny kick back. When Jeremy does it again, Jean is just about to lean forward to pry the laces of Jeremy’s shoe loose when Jeremy stretches beside him, arm coming down behind Jean and wrapping around him.
Jean goes still.
He can’t actually feel Jeremy through his leather jacket, but his touch against his shoulder feels like static shock anyway. Jeremy idly traces a finger along the seam of the jacket, thumb tapping gently against him. Jeremy’s head lolls back, looking at Jean with an easy smile. There’s no reason for this pointless touch, other than Jeremy just wants to.
The delight in Jeremy’s eyes when Jean shifts into his hand is enough to make Jean’s head spin. Jeremy’s hand wanders ever so slightly, stroking along Jean’s arm. It’s almost like being pet, which is a thought that should annoy Jean, except it only makes him lean into the touch more.
“Hey,” Jeremy says after a long moment. “You really like my hair when it’s brown? You aren’t just saying that to be nice?”
Jean flicks him an unimpressed look. “Do I often lie to spare your feelings?”
Jeremy chuckles. “No, no, you’re right. You’re honest to a fault.”
Jean shrugs. “It is how I first remember you. Standing in the airport with your stupid yo-yo.”
“Oh!” Jeremy lights up, immediately pulling his arm away and turning to his backpack sitting next to him on the bench. Jean almost protests at the sudden loss of touch, but that’s pretty pathetic, so luckily it dies in his throat before he can make any sound. Instead, he watches Jeremy riffle around in his bag with a little too much enthusiasm. “You mean this?”
And sure enough, when he turns back to Jean, he’s holding that infernal yo-yo.
“You do not carry that around,” Jean says incredulously.
Jeremy smiles. “Why wouldn’t I? It’s fun! I’ve learned all the tricks!”
“Name the tricks,” Jean says.
“Um.” Jeremy untangles the string, lips pursed as he thinks. “Walking the dog.”
“Even I know that one,” Jean says. Then, “Of course that’s the one you know.”
“We should take Jab for a walk tomorrow,” Jeremy says cheerily. “Laila already took him today.”
Jean quietly has to admit that he rather enjoys taking Jab for walks. There’s something very peaceful about it. Sometimes all four of them take him out and that seems to make him the happiest. Recently, Jean has thought about attempting to take him out on a short walk by himself. He wouldn’t really be alone, would he? That silly dog is as earnest a companion as any of the Trojans.
Riding the motorcycle by himself is a bit easier, even though this and the store are the only places he's managed to go. Something about being in motion on it that makes him feel slightly more safe. Being so vulnerable on his feet seems a lot worse than when he has all that steel beneath him.
He’s not quite there yet, but maybe someday he’ll do it.
“Never mind that.” Jean shakes his head to clear it, pointing at the yo-yo. “Do you honestly just carry it around when you know… one trick?”
“Hey!” Jeremy pouts. “I know two tricks! Maybe even three!”
“I do not believe you,” Jean says. He distinctly remembers Jeremy getting the thing tangled in his headphones.
“Okay, how about this?” Jeremy wiggles the yo-yo in Jean’s face. “I’ll do a super cool yo-yo trick that will totally impress you, and you’ll go wow Jeremy, that was so sexy of you, and then you’ll go out with me.”
Jean screws up his face, mouth opening but no words coming out as he stares at his boyfriend and his dumb face. Finally, exasperated, he manages to say, “We are already dating.”
“You’re going to date me twice as hard when I woo you with my mad yo-yo skills,” Jeremy assures him.
Jean just stares at him. “Is that really what you think impresses me?”
Jeremy grins, string already looped around his finger as he gets to his feet and backs up so he’s standing in front of Jean. “Babe, I’m irresistible. You’re just pretending to be immune.”
Not entirely untrue, but probably not for the reasons he’s insinuating.
“Okay, watch this!” Jeremy declares. The yo-yo drops to the pavement, spins, and he yanks the string back up in a way that does look momentarily impressive— and smacks himself in the face.
Alarmed, Jean jumps off the bench and grabs for Jeremy’s face. Jeremy stands there stunned, staring down at his yo-yo with a look of utter betrayal. Jean tilts Jeremy’s head in his hands, looking at the red splotch suddenly blooming on his temple and frowning.
“You are so stupid,” Jean says with a sigh.
“Ow,” Jeremy says pathetically. Then he turns those wobbly dog eyes on Jean and asks, “Kiss it better?”
“And insatiable,” Jean says, but he glances around at the deserted park anyway. They like this area specifically because it’s remote enough that there aren’t a lot of people out this way in the evenings. Satisfied that they’re alone, Jean leans down and presses his lips against the red mark on Jeremy’s skin.
Jeremy looks positively radiant, wearing a huge dopey smile as if he didn’t just smack himself in the face a moment ago. “Does this count? Did I woo you successfully?”
Jean’s thumb brushes against the red mark. “Wooed yourself into a concussion, perhaps,” he says, but his fingers linger anyways.
“Don’t act like you’re not impressed,” Jeremy says, tipping his head into Jean’s touch. “I risked my beautiful face for you. My youthful and beautiful face that you love.”
Jean is already regretting that. He should’ve just called Jeremy old and been done with it.
Instead, he says, “There was no risk involved because you’re not good at it. That was incompetence.”
“Harsh,” Jeremy gasps, clutching his hand to his chest in mock hurt. He almost loses his grip on the yo-yo still dangling from it. “Everybody’s a critic, even my boyfriend. Can’t even appreciate my art.”
“That is not art,” Jean says, but he’s unable to stop the tiniest quirk of his mouth. He steps back, hands sliding into his jacket pockets because otherwise he would probably still be holding Jeremy’s face in them. “You are very good at Exy. Stick with that.”
“And deprive the world of my true calling?” Jeremy grins, boyish and shameless as he flips the yo-yo once more, managing not to hurt himself this time as he catches it. “Tragic. One day you’ll regret crushing my dreams of being a professional yo-yo…ist? Yo-yoer?”
The slight pucker of his lips as he tries to think of the right term only makes Jean’s chest tighten.
“I doubt it.”
“Liar,” Jeremy says, and steps forward so he can bonk their shoulders together. “You like me way too much to crush my dreams. Also the kiss? Totally counts as successful wooing. I’ve decided.”
Jean looks away, but he’s sure it doesn’t help hide the warmth on his face that must be visible now. “You are exhausting.”
“You love it,” Jeremy tells him, all sunshine and satisfaction, before tossing the yo-yo back in his bag and sprawling out against the bench like he owns the whole park. “Come sit with me again. I promise no more yo-yo injuries.”
And Jean doesn’t hesitate this time, sitting down so their sides are fully pressed against each other, knees brushing. The sky is the color of one of those creamsicles Jeremy likes so much, the breeze gentle enough to move their hair but not enough to feel unpleasant. It’s nice. Maybe he can take Jab out here when he’s ready to try one of those quiet walks alone.
When Jean shuffles closer to him on the bench, Jeremy shoots him the biggest smile and pulls him even closer. If somebody were to walk by right now, there would be no mistaking them as anything but lovers. The thought should probably be more disquieting to Jean than it actually is. Instead, part of him wishes people did know, if only so they would stop looking at Jeremy like they had a shot with him still.
Petty. Very stupid and illogical. Jean can’t reason himself out of the thought, however, so he resigns himself to pressing his body further into Jeremy’s arms until it earns him a warm laugh of amusement.
“You’re burrowing,” Jeremy tells him, not unkindly. “I’m not sure how much closer you can get to me without climbing into my lap, sweetheart.”
Jean exhales sharply through his nose but doesn’t pull away. He watches the glimmer in Jeremy’s eyes grow as he takes in Jean’s expression and it kicks up another flutter of butterflies in his stomach.
Jean watches him quietly a moment longer, this man who can command the sunshine court with precision and tact but will smack himself in the face with a children’s toy and still smile about it. Jean has always been attracted to competency, but somehow the second thing is even more compelling.
Finally, Jean allows himself to admit, “You are ridiculous. But I like you this way.”
Lines around Jeremy’s eyes crinkle as he beams back at him, and Jean sees that flash of Jeremy with silver hair in the back of his mind again and quietly chisels in defined smile lines before banishing it once more. The Jeremy in front of him now is radiant and young and golden, and when he squeezes Jean tight he looks downright smug. “I knew it. Guess this means round two of yo-yo tricks later after all, since you liked it so much.”
“Absolutely not.”
But when Jeremy laughs, loud and bright, Jean can’t help but lean forward and press his mouth against his, regardless of what dog walker may or may not see them.